


Papercut

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Series: Tenshi [4]
Category: Jrock
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Quietness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes their routine is slightly disturbed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papercut

It was a quiet night. That was all they ever seemed to have - quiet nights. It was nice that way, a break from everything outside the four walls which surrounded them, a chance to relax, which so often left them refreshed. The silence wouldn't last, though, however comfortable it was. Eventually, one or the other would speak, one or the other would feel. Verbal communication was never that important, but then, neither man was one who spoke much anyway.

Dinner had been cooked and eaten together, with the exchange of few phrases, and far more brushes of brief contact, and intimate glances. This was the break between dinner and bed, which had been part of their comfortable routine since the beginning. 

It was simple enough - one or the other arrived at whichever house had been more convenient. The greeting at the door was formal, though once they had retreated far enough from the rest of the world there was always a brief embrace, which lingered far longer than it was meant to - the communication of mutual need and reassurance. Dinner, then, prepared from scratch with the assistance of a bottle of red wine, and eaten, not at the big dining table for parties, or family events, but at the breakfast bar, or the small table in the kitchen - just the two of them, safe in their own world. 

That was followed by another two or three hours of work - neither of them able or willing to switch off that easily, but both so much happier in each other's company than they were alone.

Without that silence, that peace, they would never be able to retire together at the end of the evening, kept apart instead by defences designed to protect them, without which neither would have been able to survive at all.

Akito sat at one end of the leather sofa, Yoshiki at the other, each with a stack of paper before them - one administration, the other music. To so many, the scene would have been cold, lonely - two figures at opposite ends of a sofa, absorbed in their own tasks so much so that they had neglected to turn on the overhead light, but only a small lamp which left them in a golden circle in the midst of an ink-black void.

They had only had possibly half of the time they usually spent here, and Akito was absorbed in the material he was reading. Not so absorbed, however, that the disturbance of the silence by a soft, sharp indrawn hiss of breath failed to make his head jerk around. He put down the papers he was flicking through, and did something he had not done before - moved from the sofa, not away from it, to get another glass of water, but rather towards the other end. To Yoshiki. 

He knelt on the floor next to Yoshiki, careful to position himself at an angle which couldn't be overlooked. He was unable to bite back a smile at the way the pianist's eyes took a moment to focus back on him, on the real world. When he spoke, though, it was still in a low voice, as if rather than his own living room this was a church, unwilling to disrupt the tranquility they both created and craved.

"Daijoubou ka?"

Despite himself, Yoshiki's lips curved up a little at that, and he nodded, but Akito made no move to retreat back to his own work. Before he could help himself, the pianist was offering an explanation, wondering if that might be enough for Akito to leave him be once more.

"I'm fine... just a papercut, nothing more."

He should have known, though, that Akito would not be content to leave it at that. He never was content merely to leave it where Yoshiki was concerned. He would never stand by and permit the drummer to hurt, and though he would never say so, Yoshiki appreciated that with all his heart, almost as much as he appreciated the fact that he never /would/ need to say it. Akito just knew. Akito understood. 

The man in question nodded, and gently took Yoshiki's left hand in his grasp, moving it from the music before him as Yoshiki merely permitted it, watching with a small smile as Akito brushed kissed lightly over the pad of each finger. Realising that the injury in question was not on that hand, but the other, Akito released Yoshiki's left, and instead took his right, repeating the intimate brushes of affection before discovering the cut, and hissing, much as Yoshiki had. He moved back on his knees, and stood, frowning and disappearing into the darkness of the kitchen for a moment, before returning, and resuming his position. There was a soft rustle, and Yoshiki allowed himself a slight laugh as Akito wrapped a band aid around the injured finger. Rather than going back to work, he bent, and brushed his lips over Akito's in thanks, their communication once more silent, demonstrative in a relationship where words could never be enough.

Akito smiled and returned the kiss, brushing his fingers over Yoshiki's cheek reproachfully before standing and moving back to his own end of the couch, returning reluctantly, half-heartedly to his work. 

He had barely refocussed on his papers enough to read them before a warm weight snuggled against his side, and he reflexively wrapped an arm around Yoshiki's shoulders, bringing him closer, turning to nuzzle into his hair and press a kiss to the top of his head.

The question was repeated now, softer this time, and the only response he received was another soft kiss, this one more than gratitude, instead a combination of affection, and invitation. He took the time to return it, tilting his head, closing his eyes and as always taking a moment to memorise the taste, the feel of Yoshiki's kiss. He combed his fingers through the man's hair, and nuzzled him briefly as the kiss broke, staring into those beautifully sad eyes.

Again, it was Akito who broke the silence.

"Are you sure?"

Yoshiki smiled, and nodded, moving back enough to stand, and taking Akito's hand.

"I'm sure. Come on."

The last of the lights was extinguished, and the two men retired upstairs, finally together, the same way every evening ended, the last of the barriers which were their only defence against everyday life finally eroded and dropped. It wouldn't work for anyone else, but it worked for them, that quiet interlude where they remembered how to trust, remembered how to feel together, until it seemed impossible to remain apart. 

The moment when it finally became safe to say

"I love you"


End file.
